


Executioner

by drwink



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, Hitman Sariel, M/M, Mafia AU, One-Sided Attraction, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 08:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19373143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drwink/pseuds/drwink
Summary: Sariel is a legendary hitman, only whispered about and vastly feared, and his loyalty forever belongs to one man.





	Executioner

“I’m surprised to see you back so soon, Sarry. Like your new toys?” 

That was the Consigliere. He always had a way of asking Sariel questions he never knew the answers to. It was probably for the best, he thought, because otherwise he would never consider the important things he was asked. Like had he had a vacation recently? Did he have any goals in life? Was he happy?

“New toys… They’re alright,” Sariel replied. The idea of lying to the Consigliere never occurred to him. “The job is better than it was before.”

In the past, all the Family provided their hitman with a knife or pistol at best, which meant he had to physically get close to kill his marks. And in order to get close, there were weeks and weeks of preparation to do. It was time consuming. 

It was exhausting.

Sariel’s work always started with locating the target and, in a place as crowded and chaotic as New York City, that was no easy task. But, if Sariel was anything, he was obedient and efficient. 

He always needed to track down the mark, then learn every personal detail there was to know about them. The most important detail was the best time and place to kill without being caught by the authorities, all while leaving enough evidence for the  _ right _ people to know it was Sariel’s Family that executed them. It all added up to a simple question: who mourn the victim when they were gone?

The was the whole point of a hit, and the Boss wanted  _ every _ hit to be effective. 

Maximize the damage, Sariel. We want quality, not quantity, Sariel.

_ Don’t _ disappoint me, Sariel.

Now that the Family had more money and resources, Sariel had his pick of a fully stocked firearms arsenal. All he needed was a time, place, and a well-hidden window on a clear day to snipe his targets. The amount of time a job took went from weeks to days. 

The Consigliere told Sariel that the Boss was thrilled over his ever improving efficiency. Sariel was relieved with the news. If the Boss was content, everything in Sariel’s life was at peace, and that’s all he really wanted.

“Excellent. I’m happy to hear that,” the Consigliere hummed with his usual, easy-going smile. Sariel’s eyes followed the way he gracefully uncrossed his legs and his well-polished shoes tapped against the floor. With a smart flick of the wrist, he leaned forward and drove the butt of his cigarette into a nearby ashtray, leaving no mess on his finely pressed suit.

Sariel had no idea how he did it, but the Consigliere always seemed to be the perfect picture of  effortless professionalism. He admired that in him and was thankful to have someone like the Consigliere in charge. Men like him were made for positions of power, and with them in charge, things were easier for men like Sariel.

“Come. Sit down with me.” The Consigliere waved to the leather armchair beside his own. “Even our _ dark executioner _ needs to relax every now and again, hm? It’s important you don’t overwork yourself, you know.”

Sariel as he obediently sat down, murmuring “I see.” Compared to the Consigliere who was all ease and poise as he leaned back, Sariel was a mass of gangly limbs. He was constantly arranging and rearranging himself in any attempt to be like the handsome Consigliere, but never with any success. 

The Consigliere was the picturesque ideal of confidence and sophistication where, to anyone else, Sariel was simply the mangy attack dog the Consigliere was kind enough to take under his wing. This was usual for the two of them, and it’s always been this way, even when they were children.

Back then, he wasn’t the Consigliere, he was just Belial. Belial was a dirty little kid with a big laugh, smart mouth, and clever schemes that set him apart from the rest of the street kids of New York. 

He was the one who found Sariel that fateful night, lost, scared, and bloody, and gave him somewhere to belong at his side. To Sariel, Belial was like royalty hidden beneath the muck and grime of the city, someone he cherished. Sariel’s prince cleaned him up, taught him how to survive, and gave him a warm place to sleep at night even though Belial had so little to his name.

Belial took him in despite knowing Sariel was a killer.

There was very little Sariel could remember from his early childhood, much to Belial’s frustrations. He could never recall a mother or father, or a home with a warm bed. What Sariel remembered was men in white coats whose glasses reflected back the bright ceiling lights. There were a lot of needles and long car-rides, and not a whole lot of other kids that he saw, but he got the impression there were more like him.

He dreamt a lot.

Back then, Sariel wasn’t sure what was real or what was in his head. His dreams were mostly figments of colors or music displaced throughout moments of waking. He often saw gods and devils at war together, sometimes they had human faces, sometimes they didn’t. They all hated each other, though, and always wanted to kill. 

For awhile, Sariel was the grim reaper himself, ghosting through the madness of his dreams. He wore a dark hooded robe that protected him from the horrors of the world, and his best friend was a scythe, taller than him and crueler than the lives he reaped.

The dreams stopped the day he woke up kneeling over a wealthy man he didn’t recognize while clutching a knife, not his scythe, that was buried deep in the man’s chest. When Sariel turned around, he found himself in luxurious private office. He also found the only other people in the room were like this one, lying motionless in pools of their own blood.

Sariel didn’t like to remember any more than that. 

He could vaguely recall running away, out of the office and into the streets of a city he didn’t know. It wasn’t until days later, he ran into Belial. That’s the day Sariel considers the  _ real _ start of his life. 

It wasn’t until years later, that they both were invited to the Family, or more accurately, Belial was invited to the Family, and Sariel was pulled in with him. It wasn’t unusual for Belial to sneak off for long periods of time, and since Sariel trusted he would always return, he never worried. He just patiently waited for his return, excited to hear stories of the trouble Belial had narrowly escaped this time.

It was good to get off the streets and out of their cycle of squatting, but after they both moved into the Family’s estate, Sariel saw Belial less and less. Belial was appointed consigliere which meant he was far too important and busy for idle chatter with Sariel. It seemed to be for the best. Sariel was given his own work well suited for his mysterious talent for execution.

That meant whatever time Sariel found to spend with Belial was increasingly more valuable, and he collected those memories like treasures.

  
  


_ The old bar was noisy, filled with the laughter of their colleagues and the sound of glasses clinking against one another in celebration. Amongst it all, there was always just one man that had Sariel’s attention. _

_ “I actually talked my way in!” the young consigliere, Belial, continued a story as he laughed. There was a dusting of pink on his cheeks from drinking that was  _ painfully _ distracting. “That’s how I survived, you know. People are always so easy to see through. Tell them what they want to hear, and whatever you want is yours to take.” _

_ Sariel frowned down into his own untouched glass of whiskey. “I thought you said you tried to pickpocket the previous Boss.” _

_ “I did!” He laughed that much harder. “And there was no ‘try’ about it. I pulled it off and was about to get away with it when ‘Cilius caught me. He said he could use someone who was able to trick his father, so we hatched up this whole scheme where I helped him kill the old man and take over the family. That’s why he’s the boss and I’m at his side.” _

_ For a moment, Belial lost track himself as he smiled down into his whiskey. There was something about Belial’s tender expression made Sariel’s chest burn with a feeling he didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure he wanted to understand it. _

_ “That’s how ‘Cilius saved me.” There was a wistful sigh as he reminisced. “That’s why he’ll always be my messiah.” _

  
  


That always made Sariel wonder-- who was  _ his _ messiah?

“You’re one of our key players now.” The Consigliere next to Sariel grinned with his chin in his hand. He was never able to piece together what that expression meant, but this was far from the first time the Consigliere looked at him with it. “I want you to be happy and healthy. So that means you need to kick back and relax every now and again. Think you can do that for me?”

Sariel gave him a small nod. “I can. It’s a good idea. I’ve had more free time lately, so I will try and rest.”

The Consigliere chuckled. “You need to do more than work and sleep. All work and no play makes Sarry a dull boy. Have you found any hobbies, yet? Or what about friends?”

“No,” Sariel’s shook his head. “No hobbies, I think.”

He liked to visit open parks and sit under the trees. It was refreshing in comparison to the cold, hard concrete of the city. He’d watch nature or people go by, but he didn’t think that was much of a hobby. And friends?

Sarirel continued, nodding with certainty, “You’re my friend.” That he knew.

“Is that so?” The Consigliere’s grin spread that much wider. “I’m glad, Sarry. You’re one of my friends too. It’s hard to come by people you can trust in the sort of business we’re in, so I’m glad we can count on one another.”

A familiar, tight feeling stirred in Sariel’s chest just then. He ignored it.

“So no hobbies. Then does your work make you happy?”

Again, with these questions that Sariel wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t know what else he would do with his life. Killing was all he knew outside what Belial taught him, and now that he was really thinking about it, did he like it? 

No, he didn’t. 

It always made his stomach churn to watch someone die. He felt worse knowing that there were loved ones whose lives were now robbed of the person they cared about, all because of what Sariel did. He could only imagine what it’d feel like if he was robbed of the one person he cared for.

Sariel didn’t answer, which was more than enough of an answer for the Consigliere. 

“Ahh. I think I understand.” He lay a warm hand on Sariel’s knee. “Let me talk to ‘Cilius for you. Maybe we can come up with something special that’s a little more enjoyable, just for you. Would you like that?”

He heard everything he said, but Sariel’s attention was on that warm, solid hand on his knee. He took so much comfort in the fact that the very important Consigliere thought of him. It stirred up a warm happy feeling in Sariel’s chest that spread through his whole body from head down to his toes. If Sariel wanted anything, it was to continue feeling like this.

“Yes. I think I would.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Grey and Nano for such great help!! (flexes)


End file.
